


Shower Off

by Good Morning Hawkins (quodpersortem)



Series: Voyeurpleasure [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14119983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Good%20Morning%20Hawkins
Summary: Billy never expected there to be a sequel to Steve watching him get off. Then there is, a little more hands-on and twice as spunky, too.





	Shower Off

**Author's Note:**

> Betad by (and source of the advice to add extra spice to some scenes) EMILYLAWLESS, thank you!

 

Billy knows Steve’s been staring at him, his eyes tracking him when he walks down the corridor or runs across the track field. He can feel it when he’s getting changed before practise, feeling wired and tense. His skin is crawling with heat that needs to get out somehow.

It’s been two weeks since Harrington came over to his house, and Billy expected things to change afterwards. And while it’s true that maybe those big brown eyes follow him a little more often, a little more closely, while maybe they bump into each other during practise a fraction more--it’s nowhere near as earth-shattering as he’d expected.

He’d like to pretend that he’s the bigger man here, less affected, but in practise he is helpless, left to his own instinct, the impulse to stand too close to Steve, to jolt his shoulder into his chest when he runs past him and to put his hand on his hip when he’s about to shoot for the basket. There’s no denying that Steve has noticed, either--they’re circling around each other, stalking, but there is no clear division between who is hunter and who is prey.

Towards the end of the hour-and-a-half,  it comes to a climax. Billy aims for the basket while Steve is ambling towards him, and he fails to shoot. Keeps the heavy ball in his hands as Steve runs into him and then the coarse rubber slips from his fingers as they’re reaching for each other, pulling at each others hair and clothes like they’re in primary school, petty and wild as they try for something--go for each others’ skin in the presence of others because Billy knows, Billy knows the moment they’re alone he’s going to fuck this up, send this little _thing_ careening right over the edge and into the abyss.

Coach has them stay after, putting the equipment back into the storage area. They work in silence, first under the watchful eye of Mr. Waters and, once he realises they won’t kill each other, without him.

Steve leaves before Billy does, off to the locker rooms. Billy takes a deep breath, then another, and once his hands have stopped shaking he follows him.

 -

Steve’s ambling around in the locker room. He knows he should undress and hop in the shower, wash off the sweat that clings to him. Instead, he can feel it dry on his skin and he’s feeling keyed up and restless, like there is something else that is _more_ important.

Billy looks equally high-strung. He lets the door slam shut behind his back and turns to stare at Steve, and Steve stares back.

Steve remembers watching him, up in his bedroom, naked in the light behind him and cumming all over the window. More specifically, he remembers the way Billy’s dick looked, and the way his fingers looked as he sucked on them, and the way he pretended like nothing happened when Steve walked up to the door afterwards. Right now, Billy _doesn’t_ look like what happened was nothing.

Billy looks like he knows damn well what he did with his eyes fixed on Steve--trailing up and down in appraisal, and then again while he licks his lips. Moreover, if the predatory look in his eyes is anything to go by, he’s intent on letting something happen _again_. And Steve--Steve’s positive that he will let Billy do whatever he wants to, the first thrum of arousal setting in, grabbing him by the balls and letting his dick swell in his shorts.

“What do you want?” he finally says.

Billy shrugs and gets moving again, walking past Steve into the more secluded shower area. Steve doesn’t hesitate, follows him into the tiled space. Their footsteps echo, the puddles of water their teammates left are still drying on the floor, and then Billy’s backing Steve into the wall.

“I know you’re watching me,” he murmurs, and his arm is heavy across Steve’s chest.

“I know you don’t mind,” Steve retorts, and then Billy’s mouth is crashing into his. It’s a filthy kiss, one Billy initiates by biting down on Steve’s lip and then he’s giving it back as good as he can. It reminds him of their fight, of Billy pushing and pushing and pushing until Steve nearly broke.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll break this time around.

Instead he grabs Billy’s hair and pushes their tongues together, bites back, wraps his free arm around Billy’s back to pull him close. Their movements are crude, coarse; their groans reverberate back to them in a dissonance that lends a dream-like quality to the situation. It makes it easier.

It makes the realisation that Billy is hard, dick straining against the front of his shorts, all the more delicious. Steve wants to grab him by the front of his shirt, switch their positions; he wants to _ruin_ Billy, take him apart and then reassemble, taking out the sharp looks and biting words.

“Maybe I should fuck you,” Billy grunts between kisses, slamming Steve back against the wall and sending another wave of dull pain through his body. “Right here, go in dry.”

“You fucking wouldn’t,” Steve says, and he desperately tries to think of something else to say. He doesn’t think he could tell Billy no, arousal washing over him again--but he doesn’t want to do that, not yet, not like _that_. It’s not what he’s been thinking about, alone at night.

That’s when the door opens up again. Tommy’s voice rings in Steve’s ears as he shouts, “Just forgot my bag!” Billy backs away from Steve just in time before Tommy rounds the corner and smirks at them. “You had to beat up pretty boy again?”

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Billy says, shoving his arm back into Steve’s chest. “Leave him to me.” He doesn’t take his eyes off Steve, still smirking, and Steve thinks that they passably look like they’re fighting.

“Alright, alright,” Tommy says. “Have fun then, I guess.”

He sounds demure about Billy not inviting him to a punch, slinking off with his tail between his legs. Billy stays still until they hear the door close behind Tommy, leaving them alone once again.

“I told him not to call you pretty boy,” Billy informs Steve then. It’s information Steve doesn’t know how to deal with, an odd tidbit that doesn’t have time to sink in before Billy is pushing back in for another kiss.

His tongue is hot and wet and now he’s quit, Steve can taste cigarettes. He responds eagerly, his body thrumming with the thrill of it as he reaches up to cup the back of Billy’s neck, letting his thighs part so Billy can stand between them. This way, Billy’s a little taller than him, and there’s something particularly electric about having to crane his neck up to kiss him instead of leaning down the way he’s so used to doing.

He’s been thinking about this. Whenever he was in bed or in the shower, running his fingers down his chest and further down, whenever he curled a hand around his cock or ground his hips into his bed--whenever he was bored in class, his mind defaulted to Billy. Billy standing in his windowsill, Billy naked and hard, Billy’s golden skin under his half-open shirts or in the showers after practise.

And now he’s got his fingers on Billy’s skin, standing mouth-to-mouth. Billy is pushing his body up against Steve firm enough that Steve doesn’t just feel the hard curve of his dick but the sharp jut of his hips, the subtle swell of his stomach against his own. The muscle of his thigh is firm as he presses it against Steve’s sensitive balls, throbbing between his legs, like he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.

Of course he knows what he’s doing. Steve’s not sure how he didn’t see it before, didn’t realise that Billy might be, that he _would_ be--

“What’re you thinking about, Harrington?” Billy snaps at him, barely breaking the kiss. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m not,” Steve manages, and only then notices that he’s feeling breathless. “Believe me, I’m _not_.”

Billy pulls back a little further so he can look at Steve, his eyebrows raised as he searches Steve’s face for--something. “You’re not going to push me off and tell the school Billy Hargrove’s a faggot, are you?”

“Oh, fuck _you_ ,” Steve responds, and Billy smirks again, teeth sharp against his reddened lips.

“Wouldn’t you _love_ that,” he starts, and then Steve’s reaching for him again, cupping his ass--two perfect handfuls, and Billy moans as Steve squeezes hard.

“I would,” he mutters. He’s thought about it, dreamed about it, but he doesn’t want to lose track of the moment again so instead he leans in and licks a line up Billy’s neck, gently nipping at his earlobe before trailing his teeth down his jawline.

Then he pulls Billy’s hips flush to his own, grinding their dicks together. He can feel Billy’s groan rumble up from deep inside his chest, and it makes him flush hot, hotter than he already was. Something possessive roars up from deep inside him and he kisses Billy again while using his hands to pull his ass cheeks apart. He tries to push back against Steve’s hands and then against his body and Steve pretends that he’s on the other side of Billy, about to push in his dick and fuck him--slow first, then hard.

He’s careening towards his orgasm already, his balls tightening as pleasure gushes through his body on every single thrust and every moment he realises he’s got Billy right where he wants him, falling apart. _Steve_ ’s falling apart, too.

Realising he’s going to cum in his shorts if they going like this, he reaches down for the drawstring of his PE shorts. He feels out of it, feverish and drunk on the taste of Billy’s skin and the heat of his body, but he can’t, has to--needs to get rid of his shorts, unwilling to wash them in the locker room or when he gets home, or to walk around with sticky underwear.

His fingers don’t cooperate, fumbling between their bodies as Billy keeps thrusting up against him relentlessly, pushing him closer and closer until Steve can feel the waves washing over it. He pushes down on the feeling, trying to keep himself from cumming long enough to get his dick out, reaching for the leg hole of his shorts and into his underwear, pulling out his cock.

Billy sees it and adjusts his position a little so Steve’s dick rubs against the golden skin of his thigh. It’s firm and warm, supplying him with delicious friction, and his precum smears around so the fine blonde hairs stick together. When Billy slides his hand down Steve’s spine, he can’t hold back anymore, biting down on his lip in a bid to keep quiet in the echoing room.

He watches as his cum streams out in thick white gushes, pleasure reverberating through his stomach and legs. Against his own  resolve, he grunts as he sees it run down Billy’s leg even as his dick continues to push out more. He can’t control his breathing, hard and fast as he rides out his orgasm with slow thrusts. Billy slows down, staring down at the spectacle and Steve can feel him shiver before their eyes meet.

Then he licks his lips, eyes raking across Steve’s body--lingering on his mouth, his chest, on his dick hard but spent where it hangs from his shorts, a sticky string of cum still connecting him to Billy until Billy steps back a little. He pulls down his own shorts in one swift motion, smearing and soaking up Steve’s spunk. He leaves them hanging off his thighs, grabbing his cock and curling his fist around it. Billy must have been nearly as close as Steve because he doesn’t last ten seconds, widening his stance as he jacks off and cums on the floor between them, on Steve’s bare legs where the milky droplets cling to his skin. He can barely feel them, _physically_ \--it’s comparable to walking by someone else taking a shower. Emotionally it feels like Billy’s marked him, and Steve can only think that Billy should’ve been closer to him, should have cum on him the way he did to Billy. There is regret too, that he didn’t get to curl his hand around Billy’s cock; he’s feeling rueful that it’s going to be all over soon. Steve wants _more_.

Billy takes a slow deep breath while Steve’s still catching his own, trying to calm his heart. Then he pulls up his shorts and reaches down for Steve’s leg. First, he thinks Billy is going to touch his cock, but instead he drags his fingers through his own cum and holds up his hand.

Steve’s confused, wants to ask Billy what he’s doing, but Billy rolls his eyes before he can and sticks his fingers into his mouth. He pops out his tongue, swivels it around like he’s mimicking a blowjob, and Steve’s now-soft dick twitches feebly against his thigh.

Billy’s fingers tickle his skin when he repeats the motion across Steve’s other thigh, and this time he responds--licking Billy’s fingers clean, wet with his own cum and with Billy’s saliva. Billy pushes them in deeper, staring into Steve’s eyes, and there’s no question that they’re thinking about the same thing. Steve takes everything Billy’s giving him, sucks on his fingers and swallows around them. He watches as Billy’s eyes close for a moment like he is trying to imprint the moment on his memory before stepping back. It’s abrupt, like everything today seems to be. Steve doesn’t like it anymore.

“Put your dick back in your pants, pretty boy,” he tells Steve, walking out of the shower room with his eyes still on him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he turns around. He doesn’t change his clothes; Steve can hear him shove his belongings into his bag and then he leaves.

With still-weak knees he pushes himself away from the wall and starts to shrug out of his clothes. He doesn’t particularly want to take a shower, let the feel of Billy cling to his skin a little longer, but he needs to--he doesn’t want his parents to ask questions, he doesn’t want anybody to, and most of all he doesn’t want to admit how any of this _really_ makes him feel. Least of all himself.

-

Billy’s hands tremble on wheel as he drives home.

He’s still riding on his high with AC/DC blasting from the speakers; he remembers the hot, hot heat of Steve’s dick on his thigh. Having Steve watch him get off was one thing; this was something else entirely.

_That_ is what worries him, too.

To have Steve’s eyes on him was one thing, Steve’s hands were something else entirely.

When he gets home he rushes into his bedroom, aware that he’s still in his PE clothes. He leans back against his locked door and takes a deep breath. The nylon sticks to his skin where it soaked up Steve’s cum and he brushes his hand over it.

He doesn’t want to wash it out, not really. He doesn’t want to shower but savour the feeling of Steve’s hands, his legs, his mouth on Billy’s.

Instead he forces himself to get a move on--grabs a towel, clean clothes, shower gel. He’s methodical about scrubbing himself clean, and when he gets out of the shower he feels empty. It’s a feeling he’s familiar with, and familiar with ignoring--so that’s what he does.

He gets on with his chores, cooks dinner, calls Max so he can supervise her doing her homework, waits for Neil and Susan and pretends nothing happened at all.

 


End file.
